


the shadows we cast

by LazuliQuetzal



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: Alternate Universe - Detectives, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-08
Updated: 2015-08-08
Packaged: 2018-04-13 14:28:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4525563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LazuliQuetzal/pseuds/LazuliQuetzal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Detective Drake is new to the GCPD, and he's not sure if he can fill the shoes of the late Detective Todd.</p>
<p>_____</p>
<p>
  <b>Edit (18 Oct 2015): Added some scenes and fixed a few errors. Thanks to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/souriel24/pseuds/souriel24">souriel24</a> for some writing advice!</b>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	the shadows we cast

**Author's Note:**

> Been watching a lot of Brooklyn 99 and Psych, so... detectives.  
> I was going for lighthearted fun and it ended up much more serious than intended.

Tim’s not sure what he’s expecting when he shows up at the Gotham City Police Department, but it sure wasn’t _this_.

He stands a little behind his new partner (Dick freakin’ _Grayson_ ) and observes. The sooner he can pin down the dynamics in his new workplace, the sooner he can fit in between the cracks and blend in, like he always does.

Tim’s a professional wallflower. Despite his exceptional grades and scores, he’s always floated through his life unnoticed. In the police academy, in high school, as a child. Even now, as he’s observing, he’s pretty much forgotten until the redhead behind the computer notices him.

“Hey,” she says. “You must be Timothy Drake, Dick’s new partner."

_New partner_ , Tim notes. He's aware that he's a replacement for whoever came before, but it kinda stings to have that said to his face.

"Welcome to the Gotham City Police Department. I’m Barbara Gordon, Senior Information Technologist. Aka, tech support.”

Tim smiles politely. “Nice to meet you.”

He notices the way Grayson sits on her desk, leaning towards her. His fingertips brush Gordon’s hand. Gordon’s mouth twitches at the contact, and she doesn't pull her hand away.

They’re dating. Or at the very least, getting there.

“Technically Babs is here to fix the databases and keep out hackers, but she also gives great advice on cases,” Grayson says. “Bruce just pretends that we’re not consulting a civilian.”

Gordon laughs and swats his hand.

Chief Wayne and Grayson are close, then, judging by the way Grayson casually drops his first name. That would make sense. Back in the day, Wayne and Grayson were the best cops in Gotham, earning fame when they brought down the elusive serial killer, the Joker. The ‘Dynamic Duo’, as they were called, had the most arrests out of any pair on the East Coast. Tim knows because he remembers the whole Joker case from when he was in high school - it’s what inspired him to become a detective in the first place.

(He’d never thought he’d end up partnered to _the_ Dick Grayson, but life is weird.)

Grayson bids farewell to Gordon and lightly brushes her hair with his fingertips before they continue their tour. Tim is quiet as they walk through, preferring to observe his surroundings. He’s memorizing the layout and location of various people’s desks. He notes that Grayson is well-liked in the precinct. He’s familiar with everyone, and he smiles and nods as they walk through the station. Tim notes an underlying sadness in people’s interactions with his new partner, though. He wonders what that’s about.

Grayson is explaining things, but he doesn’t talk to Tim more than is needed. There’s a stiffness in the older man’s frame, a tension in his posture. Grayson's eyes pass over a corner of the room and he falters for a moment before continuing with his tour. Something is holding him back.

Tim gets the feeling that Dick Grayson doesn’t like him very much.

* * *

The first time Tim met Cassandra, the woman nearly gave him a heart attack. It was two months into his new job at the GCPD, and he was starting to settle in. Dick had warmed up to him. Tim was on a first name basis with almost everyone else.

He was working on some paperwork at his desk when a voice sounds, right in his ear.

“Hello.”

He jumps. Grasping his chest, he whirls around in his swivel chair. Behind him, a dark-haired woman is blinking at him innocently.

“Hi,” he stammers out, once he finds the breath to do so.

He hears the sound of barely repressed laughter and shoots a glare in the general direction of his partner’s desk.

“You’re Timothy Drake,” the woman says. She tilts her head, reminding Tim of a bird. “The rookie. Dick’s new partner.”

“Yes,” Tim says. There it is again. _New partner_. Since that first day, Tim's learned that he was a replacement for the infamous Detective Todd (God, that name sounded familiar), but he only has bits and pieces of the story. Even though he could easily figure it out for himself - he’s a damn good detective, and he knows it - he figures it would be a breach of the trust that’s building between him and Dick. Dick would tell him on his own time.

There is a silence as the woman continues staring at him, and Tim feels like she’s staring into his soul.

“Can I help you?” he asks, his voice coming out rather hesitant.

She stares for a moment more before nodding. She turns her head to where Dick and Babs are watching. “I approve.”

Tim’s eyebrows knit together. “Who are you?” he asks, sounding much less hesitant than earlier.

“Cassandra Cain,” she says. She smiles, though it doesn’t put Tim at ease. “Pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Tim replies, because that’s the polite thing to do. Internally, he’s reviewing everything he’s heard about this woman since he started working here. She's Detective Brown's partner. She’s the best at hand-to-hand combat, has been on an undercover op for the past six months, and is a ‘freaking _ninja_ ’. Barbara’s words, not his.

Cassandra gazes into his eyes again. “You’ll be good for Dick,” she says.

“Ah, thanks?” Tim asks, not really sure where this conversation is going.

She leans forward and lowers her voice. “He was torn up when Jason died,” she says. “Don’t hurt him.”

The words fall out of Tim’s mouth before he can filter them. “I’m not planning to die soon, if that’s what you’re saying.”

He winces when he hears how callous that sounds.

Cassandra doesn’t seem to mind, though. “Have you taken any cases yet?”

“A few,” Tim says. “Robberies, muggings --”

“No,” Cassandra says. “ _Cases_ cases. This is Gotham.”

“I haven’t,” Tim answers. He doesn’t ask for clarification. He doesn’t have to.

“Dick might be a little overprotective,” Cassandra warns. “Don’t let him.”

“Huh?”

“You’re a good detective,” Cassandra says. “Do your job.”

She walks away.

Tim has no idea what that conversation was about. He turns around and goes back to filling out forms, but he’s still turning Cassandra’s words around in his head.

* * *

“You’re so quiet all the time,” Dick says, tossing a paper ball into Tim’s wastebasket.

“You talk enough for the both of us,” Tim replies. He leans back into his chair and waits for Dick to get to the point.

Dick grins. “There’s that wit,” he says. “Steph told me you’re actually really talkative, but I don’t think I’ve seen that, yet.”

Detective Brown was probably the only person he felt comfortable with in the entire precinct. She had popped up next to him, dragged him out for coffee, and they’ve been good friends ever since.

Tim shrugs.

“See?” Dick waves his arm around, nearly knocking over a pencil cup. “You don’t talk!”

Tim laughs. “I do talk,” he insists. “I dunno, I guess I don’t have much to say?”

Dick frowns a little. Tim watches as he tosses another wad of paper into the basket. It falls in, without touching the edges.

“You know, we’ve been partners for almost a year and I still don’t know much about you,” Dick says.

“I guess.”

“I’ll go first,” Dick says. “I could’ve been an Olympic athlete.”

Tim’s eyebrows rise up. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Dick grins. “I’ve been a gymnast all my life. Got scouted and everything, but then I messed up my knees and ended up as a cop instead.”

Tim can believe it. There’s always this easy grace to the way Dick moves. Like air.

“So, your turn,” Dick waves his hand as a gesture to _go ahead_. “Tell me your darkest secrets.”

“I… like photography,” Tim says, after a moment of thought.

Dick looks at him expectantly.

“When I was young, I used to just wander around Gotham to find things to take pictures of,” Tim elaborates. “And I mean, really young. I’ve got scrapbooks starting from when I was nine.”

“You ‘wandered’ around Gotham when you were _nine_?” Dick asks, incredulous. “Your parents were okay with that?”

“My parents were kinda shitty,” Tim admits. “I’m over it.”

Dick shakes his head. “What did you take pictures of?”

“Buildings. People.” Tim’s mouth twitches. “A dead body, once.”

Dick chokes on air. “You’re _joking_.”

“I called the cops,” Tim says. “Andrew Lee, 34 years old. Suicide. Jumped off the side of the Gotham Clock Tower. I was thirteen.”

“Damn,” Dick says, because what else do you say to a story like that. “Well, now I know why you didn’t blink at Steph’s murder case. Most rookies usually go green.”

Tim shrugs. “Your turn.”

"Babs and I are dating."

Tim snorts. "I knew that from my first day."

Dick looks shocked. Tim smirks. "Oh, come on. I'm a detective, remember?"

"Smartass," Dick says fondly. He waves his hand, a gesture for Tim to go next.

Tim thinks for a moment. "Ahh, I wear contacts?"

"Really?" Dick asks. "You should show up in glasses someday."

Tim shakes his head. "I look like a nerdy hipster when I wear glasses,” he explains.

“Hate to break it to you, but you are a nerdy hipster,” Dick points out.

“Am _not_.”

“Are _too_ ,” Dick says, poking Tim on the forehead.

Tim scowls, but he’s laughing. He waits for Dick’s next story.

Dick is quiet for a moment. Tim watches how he chews the inside of his mouth and hunches over. His breaths are a little deeper than a few moments ago. He stares at a spot on the floor before he glances up and meets Tim’s eyes, and Tim knows the conversation is shifting in a more serious direction.

“My last partner,” Dick says, finally. “Jason Todd.”

Tim’s fingers curl, ever so slightly.

“You’ve heard of the Joker, right? That serial killer?”

The Joker - the killer that thrust Dick into the spotlight. The Joker - the catalyst for the events leading up to Tim sitting in this police station right now.

“I’ve heard of him.”

“When he broke out last year, Jason and I were put on the case,” Dick says. “I dunno if you know this, but --”

“You and the Chief were the ones that put him away in the first place,” Tim says. “I remember reading about it.”

And pouring over it. And staying up late, researching careers in law enforcement, and marching up to his parents and telling them he was going to be a detective and not the heir to Drake Industries.

“Yeah,” Dick says. “The higher-ups thought that I’d be able to offer some insight. But then the Joker started targeting me and Bruce, so they pulled me out of the field. Jason was paired up with another cop, Sheila Wood, and they did the field work.”

Tim remembers now. Detectives Jason Todd and Sheila Wood. He now knows why Jason Todd's name was familiar - because he read about this case in the news two years ago.

“The Joker nabbed them,” Dick says. “There was a warehouse rigged to blow. We... We didn't get there in time."

Dick closes his eyes. "Didn't even have enough of a body to bury."

His voice cracks at that last sentence.

The first thought Tim has is, _That sounds like a cover up story_. The second is, _what the hell, Tim, this guy's partner is dead and you want to say it's covered up_.

Tim reaches out and places his hand on Dick's shoulder. "Thanks for trusting me with this," he says, his voice quiet, but reassuring.

Dick's eyes are wet, but he smiles weakly. "I - If you don't want to be my partner, I understand..."

Tim blinks in confusion. "Why would I not want to be your partner?"

Dick presses his lips together and twists his hands. "I've helped put away a lot of the big ones," he says. "If they ever break out..."

"We'd be a target?" Tim finishes. He lifts up a single eyebrow and Dick has the decency to look a little ashamed.

"If I wanted to play it safe, I would have moved to Metropolis," Tim says with a lighthearted grin. He leans back in his chair and places his hands behind his head. "This is Gotham, and you're my partner. That's how this works. I'm not going anywhere."

Dick smiles back, looking a lot happier. Tim feels the shift in the relationship, that step from colleagues to friends. "My turn. Back in high school, my friends and I tried to start a band called 'Young Justice'..."

* * *

 

After that conversation, the unspoken presence of Jason Todd recedes. Before, everything Tim did was silently compared to his predecessor. It wasn’t obvious, or intentional, but Tim’s a good detective and he notices the little slips in speech and action.

Being recognized as Dick’s _new_ partner. Jokes he didn’t understand. Hand signals he was expected to recognize.

After the heart to heart, though, people recognize Tim as a detective in his own right. It’s nice, to be noticed for once. He’d spent years as an invisible observer. It’s different, to make his own inside jokes, bonding with the people in his workplace. But it’s nice.

“Rookie!” Dick calls, striding across the halls to Tim’s desk.

Tim whirls around in his swivel chair, wincing at the squeaking noise it makes. “Yep?”

Dick stops in his tracks and stares. “Oh wow, you really _do_ respond to that,” he says.

Steph leans back from her desk and shouts across the room. “Told you!”

Tim groans and hides his face in his hands.

Dick leans over Tim’s desk. “Anyway, we have a case.”

“Another robbery?” Tim asks.

Dick shakes his head. “ _Case_ case, Tim.”

Tim sits up. “ _Case_ case?” It’s been exactly a year, and Tim has not had any case cases, despite the fact that they live in Gotham.

“Double murder,” Dick says. “Decapitation, of all things.”

Tim’s not very surprised. It’s Gotham.

“So on your feet,” Dick says, drumming on Tim’s desk. “Grayson and Drake are on the case!”

Tim grabs his coat and they stride out of the precinct. “It’s Drake and Grayson, Dick. _Alphabetical order_.”

* * *

 

It’s Tim’s first _case_ case, and it lands the front page of the Gotham Gazette for two weeks straight. It’s the works: a double murder, robberies, and the kidnapping of twins. Tim’s sleep schedule is messed up because the guy likes doing things at 2AM exactly.

It ends with a flying tackle and Harvey Dent, aka, ‘Two-Face’, getting a life sentence. Tim learns to hate the number two.

And that’s only the beginning, because what comes after that is much, much worse.

* * *

 

 

Tim has thought before that Jason Todd’s death sounds like a cover up. He dismissed it immediately, and proceeded to forget about it, which is why the thought decides to come back when he’s in the middle with a firefight with a rising crime lord.

‘The Red Hood’, he calls himself. Take Black Mask down, and another one pops up in his place. Gotham’s crazy like that.

Dick’s west of here. Tim’s job is to chase the Red Hood into the claws of the officers lying in wait. It’s not working very well.

This Red Hood guy is elusive in ways they hadn’t anticipated. In fact, Tim’s the first and _only_ police officer to lay eyes on him. He runs through the alleys, dodging bullets, but it seems to him that the bullets are slowing down.

The criminal takes a rather impressive running leap and lands on a fire escape. He immediately starts to scale the wall. Tim aims and shoots for his hands, but the guy is quick and he risks shooting the windows of the apartments around them.

“He’s heading for the roofs,” Tim yells into his radio, and then - “I’m following him.”

Dick’s voice crackles through. “Wait, the _roofs_?” but by then Tim has jumped and grasped the metal of the fire escape. The structure groans, but the Red Hood only picks up his speed. Tim follows as fast as he can.

They’re up on the roofs, and Tim can only think _what the hell_.

This Red Hood guy is literally jumping across the roofs, like he’s a comic book character. Tim aims for a leg, but the guy twists into a mid-air somersault, and the bullets only graze the edge of his distinctive red helmet.

“Jumping is Dick’s thing,” Tim mutters, but he follows, retracing the Red Hood’s steps.

“You’ve got more guts than most cops,” the criminal calls out. The voice is robotic. There’s a voice synthesizer in the helmet somewhere, which makes him hard to identify. Tim hates how this dude does flashy stuff and blows up warehouses and decapitates drug dealers and they _still_ haven’t figured out who he is. Every crime scene they hit has been wiped clean. Even Chief Wayne has no clue, which is kind of terrifying, because if Bruce Wayne doesn’t have ideas, who does?

Tim doesn’t answer the comment. He also doesn’t hesitate as he leaps across a gap between the roofs. His landing is kind of awkward, but that doesn’t matter -- he has to keep running.

The Red Hood ducks behind a satellite dish. Tim’s on guard. His eyes dart around, searching for any movement.

There’s a faint rustle. He whirls around and shoots.

“Whoa, there,” the Red Hood says. He leans against a planter, as if he isn’t armed to the teeth, and Tim has the feeling the guy is grinning underneath his ridiculous helmet.

“Hey, you’re new,” the Red Hood says, like they’re having a normal conversation. “Detective Drake, right? The hero of the whole Two-Faced thing?”

“You’re pretty cocky for someone who’s cornered on a rooftop,” Tim says, his gun up and his eyes never leaving the criminal’s face. Head. Helmet. Whatever.

“You should be my nemesis,” the guy says. “You chase me, try and put me away. I’ll escape. We’ll exchange sarcastic banter every time we meet. You’ll get closer to catching me each time, but I’ll always manage to wriggle away at the last second.”

“This isn’t a TV show,” Tim snaps. “Hands up.”

The Red Hood shrugs and raises his arms in the air. “Whatever you say, nemesis.”

“I’m not your nemesis,” Tim growls. “You’re under arrest.”

“Pro tip: you gotta put the handcuffs on me before you say that,” the Red Hood says. “I’ve got a way of slipping away.”

Under different circumstances, Tim might find that funny, but it’s really not right now. He takes another step forward.

“You’re no fun,” the Red Hood says.

“You’re a criminal.”

“I prefer ‘aggressive vigilante’.”

Tim blinks. “You seriously think what you’re doing is good?”

The Red Hood shrugs. “Did you notice that the gangs have stopped dealing to children?”

“You literally decapitated fourteen people.”

“They were all criminally inclined assholes.”

Which Tim can’t exactly argue with, but. It’s murder.

The phrase ‘criminally inclined assholes’ sparks something in the back of Tim’s mind, though. Against his will, his brain chases the trail of thought, from something Steph said to something Dick said to a sad expression because they were talking about Jason Todd, and _that_ leads to the thought that ‘Jason Todd’s death sounded like a cover-up’.

“Well, nice talk,” Red Hood says. “I’m out.”

“Stop!” Tim yells, but it’s too late. The guy steps over the edge of the roof. Tim runs to the edge - it’s a seven-story building, that’s gotta hurt - but instead, he’s greeted with the sight of the Red Hood waving at him from the back of a truck.

Carrying _mattresses_.

It’s so cliché that Tim wants to cry, but he grabs his radio.

“The target’s escaping on the back of a white pick-up truck,” he says. “They’re heading south on 31st.”

But even as the words come out of his mouth, he knows that they’re not going to catch the guy.

“Copy that,” Dick says from the other side of the radio.

Tim finds another fire escape to climb down. But he can’t shake the thought of Jason Todd out of his head.

* * *

Babs finds him in the records room, surrounded by boxes, with a notebook and a pencil in his mouth.

“Tim?”

He jumps and scrambles back in surprise. “Holy - _Babs_?”

She shoots him a suspicious look and rests her elbow on the armrest of her wheelchair. “Tim. What are you doing?”

“Researching,” he says dryly. There are files scattered around him _everywhere_. It would be messy, but Babs is quite familiar with the state of Tim’s desk. There’s a system to everything, and that probably applies to here, too. His hair is a mess, the eraser on the end of the pencil has been chewed off, and there’s scribbles and diagrams all over the page of the notebook.

He’s definitely researching.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it,” Barbara says. “Have fun.”

She turns around and wheels out of the room, more than a little confused. Babs is the only one who uses the records room - everyone else just asks her to look up stuff for them. Then again, Tim’s a slightly insecure and overly independent guy who prefers doing his own stuff.  
He’s probably going through the Two-Face case again. There’s a trial coming up, and the boxes he’d pulled out were all labeled ‘T’.

 

* * *

 

He stares at the notebook pages scattered about his apartment. All day, he’s been digging into the death of Jason Todd, and he’s come to the conclusion that the Joker case was incomplete, and Jason Todd’s ‘death’ was a cover-up.

First of all, conveniently abandoned warehouse. While completely possible, it also means there were no witnesses. Tim does his research and learns that the detectives’ radios weren’t working, either. A localized EMP, they say. This was also possible, but it also means that the information on the final step in the Joker case is limited to the time after the explosion.

The GCPD went to the obvious conclusion - that there was a bomb set up and it blew Todd’s body to bits. There was enough of Sheila Wood’s remains to declare her dead - an entire charred leg and various other parts - though they only found traces of some other body, and they were practically useless for DNA testing.

Why would there be one obvious death and a second not-so-obvious one?

This was where it started looking suspicious.

The Joker was a serial killer with style. His crimes included carved up bodies and grotesque imagery. To him, the murder was a show. When he killed someone, it was publicized. The bodies were arranged in a dramatic way - dressed up and bloody, with messages written in red paint over the walls.

(Blood clots, so it’s hard to write with; it also dries dirty brown. Paint gives a more dramatic effect.)

Other times, the Joker would play a ‘game’, leaving clues for the police to follow, only to break the rules and kill the victim at the last moment.

(When he was in high school, it fascinated and horrified Tim in equal measure. He followed the case diligently; it was like solving a puzzle.)

The point is, the Joker enjoyed a show. And those last two ‘deaths’ were anything but. Lured to an abandoned warehouse, cutting off all forms of communication, and ditching them to get out of the blast radius? Perhaps the Joker gloated in their final moments, but it would have been wasted. He definitely would have taunted the GCPD somehow, or even just Dick and Bruce.

This explosion was not the work of the Joker, which meant he was working with an outside party.

Tim digs deeper.

The case was not finished. Jason Todd did not die in that warehouse. Now he has to find out _why_.

* * *

“Fancy meeting you here, Detective Timothy Drake,” Red Hood says, twirling a knife around his fingers. “Actually, Detective Drake is a mouthful. Mind if I call you Timmy?”

“Drake is fine,” Tim says, and he can’t believe he’s actually bantering with the criminal they’ve been trying to catch for months.

“Timmy it is,” Red Hood says.

Tim sighs. He’s tied up and hanging upside-down from the ceiling of a warehouse. Dick’s hair is probably turning gray as the whole force tries to track down where he is.

“You’re so cliché,” he says. “First the mattresses. Now this. I don’t understand how you’re not being caught.”

“It’s the secret identity,” Red Hood says. “I’m slippery, so they have to go through the whole ‘guess the criminal’ thing. It’s fun.”

Tim frowns. “You don’t seem very worried that they’ll figure out who you are.”

Hood's grinning underneath the helmet, Tim can feel it.

The voice in the back of his mind says, _you can’t find a man who’s legally dead._

He can’t get the case of Jason Todd out of his mind, and it’s bleeding its way into his other cases. There _should_ be absolutely nothing connecting a not-dead detective and this criminal. But Tim can’t shake the feeling, and he can’t help but find connections where there shouldn’t be.

Tim’s radio beeps.

“And that’s my cue,” Red Hood says. He turns to leave.

“You’re not going to kill me?” Tim asks, and regrets the words as soon as they leave his mouth.

The Red Hood pauses in his walk, but doesn’t turn around. “Isn’t it more fun this way, nemesis?”

 

* * *

 

Tim tells himself he’s looking into this for Dick. That Dick deserves the truth about his former partner’s death. That doesn’t explain why he hasn’t told anything to the man.

Perhaps Dick can sense Tim’s stress, because there’s a slight distance between them now. They’re closer than they were at the beginning, but there’s a tension that Tim can’t figure out how to break.

Dick’s driving them to another crime scene. He glances over, his eyebrows scrunching up. Wrinkles appear on his forehead, and his mouth twitches, as if he’s about to say something.

“Tim,” he says finally.

Tim tears his gaze away from the window.

“Are you okay?” Dick asks. “You look like you’ve got a lot on your mind.”

“Just some personal things,” Tim says. _Your personal things, not mine_ , he thinks, and he winces. “It’s fine, I can handle it.”

“If you need someone to talk to, I’m here,” Dick says. “Just let me know, okay?” Dick flashes a bright grin. “I’ve been told I’m a good people person.”

Tim laughs. “I know you are.” He smiles in return, hoping that Dick can’t see the strain. “Don’t worry. I’ve got this.”

Dick nods. Tim turns back to the window, to the buildings rushing by. His smile fades.

Dick can’t see it because he’s driving.

 

* * *

 

Tim stumbles across his next clue on accident, when he absentmindedly pulls out the ‘A’ box instead of the ‘J’ one (In his defense, the lighting in the records room is crap, his contacts were dirty that day, and ‘A’ and ‘J’ are only three shelves apart.)

He opens the box and frowns at the letters. The word  ‘Joker’ was nowhere in sight. With a sigh, he prepares to put the lid back on when something catches his eye.

_Assassins, League of._

That’s an interesting title.

Acting out of curiosity, he pulls out the folder, which was essentially empty. The only thing in there is a photocopied report from some other case, only five pages long.

He’s surprised to learn that it’s an old case of Chief Wayne’s - back when he only just made detective, before Dick Grayson came to the precinct. The case was only burglary, a nonviolent theft, which contradicted the foreboding title on the folder tab.

He reads through.

Thefts. Jewelry, artifacts, art pieces. The thief was a woman named Selina Kyle, who ended up turning herself in and returning most of the goods. She claimed the rest was stolen from her home by ‘a man in a ninja mask’. The court did not believe her, and she was sentenced to ten years in prison.

On the third page, there are some notes in the margins. They’re written in dark blue ink and there’s a slight indentation in the paper, meaning these notes were not photocopied along with the rest of the report. The words are written in the thin, angular handwriting that Tim recognizes as Chief Wayne’s.

_Kyle is guilty, no doubt, but the other woman certainly played a role in this. Proof needed._

Tim’s eyes narrow. Other woman?

He skims through the rest, but there is no mention of another player in this game. After squeezing everything he can out of the report, he places it back in the folder.

And frowns.

Upon closer examination, he realizes the folder was not as thin as he thought.

Though the report is the only thing in there, the paper is stretched in a way that suggests the file used to be a lot fatter. The fold is not as sharp as it should be. Someone removed whatever used to be there.

Tim looks through the report again, not for the content, but for signs of tampering. He scowls when he notices the page numbers jump from four to seven.

_Amateur mistakes, Tim_ , he reprimands himself. Two pages isn't enough to cause the dramatic difference in size in the folder, but it must have something. He turns and searches for the ‘K’ box.

He pulls out the original version of the Kyle case and flips to page five. It’s filled with photos of the crime scenes. Page six has what few witness accounts were connected with the case.

There are four accounts. Three are male security guards from various places that were robbed. The fourth is a female named Talia Gull.

She’s the only woman mentioned besides Kyle herself. He wonders what role Gull played when the door opens. Startled, he glances up.

It’s Babs.

“Researching?” she asks, her eyes narrowed and her mouth in a slight frown. She’s skeptical -- it’s the second time she’s caught him in here.

“Yeah,” Tim says.

She wheels herself into the room and studies the files he’s looking at. Tim clamps down the urge to sprawl out and cover as much as he can.

“What are you looking at?”

Tim glances at the file he’s holding. “...Old cases,” he says, racing to come up with a better explanation than ‘Jason Todd might be alive and his killer is probably still at large’.

Out loud, he says, “I, uh. Like history.”

“I can see that,” Babs says, a wry grin on her face. “Hmm. You know, no one ever comes into the records room except for me.”

“Really?” Tim asks. “You’d think detectives would look up old cases more often.”

“Oh, they do,” Babs agrees. “They usually go through me, though. I’d take any excuse to get away from fixing Steph’s computer.” She snorts. “I swear, that girl breaks it on purpose.”

Tim smiles.

Babs reads the case over Tim’s shoulder. “Mmm. That looks familiar.”

“It does?”

She taps her chin, frowning in thought. Slowly, her expression softened. “You know, I think the last person to look at those was Jason Todd.”

Tim’s mind suddenly snaps to attention. Trying to hide his surprise, he looks up at Babs, who is frowning in her wheelchair. “W-What was he looking for?”

She shrugs, her face growing sad. “It was during the - the Joker case. After Dick got pulled from the field.” She smiles sadly. “He liked to read through old cases. Said it helped him think of ideas for the current ones.”

At her wistful tone, Tim feels the sudden urge to blurt out his theory of Jason Todd’s death being faked. Just barely, he clamps it down.

“Need any help?” Babs asks, studying his face.

“Nah,” Tim waves it off, trying to act cool. “Sorry about the mess. I’ll put it back when I’m done, I promise.”

“I’ve no doubt about that,” she replies. “Try not to bend any pages, and have fun with your history notes.”

She turns around and rolls out of the records room.

Once she's gone, Tim flips through his notebook and looks at the hastily scribbled list of the things he knows.

  1. J. Todd - death covered up

  2. Joker worked w/ outside party




He pauses before he adds another point in his list.

  1. J. Todd investigate LoA (?)




Tim glances at the boxes scattered around him. Whatever this League of Assassins was, someone didn’t want it to become public knowledge.

Did the League wipe the file? Did Jason Todd do it? Did Chief Wayne?

He needs answers, and he’s not sure if it’s because he owes it to Dick  to find the truth behind Todd’s death, or if it’s out of his own selfish curiosity.

* * *

 

Tim ends up deciding against going to Bruce Wayne with the tampered files. If Wayne did mess with those, it could cost him his job as chief, and Wayne was damn good at his job.

Instead, he waits until Barbara has a sick day and then slips into her computer. The first thing he does is type in ‘League of Assassins’.

It’s empty. Only this time, there's nothing connecting Talia Gull with the League.

Next, he types in Talia Gull.

Talia Gull has a surprisingly short record.

She has a birth date, a few credit card purchases, and a squeaky clean record, but other than that, it's empty. No education mentioned. No job history. No driver's license. Perhaps some of that could be explained away, but Tim's had too many coincidences in the past few months. Tim suspects it's an alias.

Whatever this League was, it was well hidden. Tim would bet anything it was well funded and well protected as well.

He's about to wipe his history and turn off Babs' computer when a sudden thought strikes him. Almost on instinct, he types in Jason Todd.

The average things show up. A photo, basic description, and background information. He scans through the file, and his eyes land upon a full-body photograph -- and he goes completely still.

Tim had only seen pictures of the man's face. The most he had seen were photos from the shoulders up. He hadn't seen how tall he was, his stocky build, his aggressive body language.

It looked incredibly familiar. If Tim had to compare Jason Todd to anyone in terms of appearance and stature, it would probably be...

The Red Hood.

Tim hastily wipes the history and eliminates all evidence of him ever using Babs' computer.

He really needs to find out why Jason Todd's death was faked, and this time, it feels a lot more urgent.

* * *

“Cass,” Tim says.

The woman looks up. She drums on her desk, and Tim takes that as a signal to continue.

“I think I know who the Red Hood is.”

Cass widens her eyes. “Who?” and then. “Have you told Dick?”

Tim opens mouth, and then hesitates. “Um.”

Cass looks confused for a second, before turning mildly offended. “We’re all on the same team, Tim,” she says. “Share with the class.”

“You’re good at reading body language, right?”

Cass tilts her head.

“Right, dumb question,” Tim says. Cass can tell what someone is thinking just by how they breathe. “The Red Hood. You’ve seen the footage. Does he remind you of anyone?”

She stiffens. Her eyes wander to a spot across the room before snapping back. She shakes her head. “No.”

She had looked in the direction of Dick’s desk. That’s all the answer Tim needs.

 

* * *

 

“I’m not your nemesis,” Tim snaps, trying to untie himself from the chair. It’s not working very well.

The Red Hood laughs as he cleans his gun. It comes out cold and robotic. “Timmy-boy, it’s the third time you’ve been separated from the rest of your little crew to face me one on one,” he says. “And it’s the second time I’ve tied you up. I think that constitutes ‘nemesis’.”

“Can you just - can you just _stop_?” Tim pleads. “Just turn yourself in.”

“And get a life sentence?” Red Hood asks, and Tim can hear the sarcasm even though the voice is flat and lifeless. “Dude. Seriously.”

“I don’t even get why you’re doing this,” Tim says, wiggling his arms. If he can loosen the ropes enough...

Hood shrugs, popping some bullets into the chambers of his pistol. “Can’t get rid of crime. Isn’t it better to control it?”

Tim has heard that saying before, though not in those exact words. Red Hood has the tone of an exasperated cop, the ones who grow bitter and cynical. The ones that retire angry and lonely, the ones who have seen too much.

Maybe Tim’s just hearing what he thinks he should hear. But he takes the gamble, hoping with all his heart that he's wrong.

“You know, Grayson says you seem familiar,” he says, watching the criminal’s reaction. It's a lie. Dick has said no such thing, but if he's right...

“Does he?” Hood asks.

Damn the voice synthesizer, because he can't get anything out of the robotic voice.

"You ever meet him before?"

Hood snorts. "Looking for clues to my identity?"

"Avoiding the question, Mr. Watson?” Tim asks.

Hood pauses in his actions. “Who?”

“‘Jared Watson’,” Tim says. “Who is supposed to be in Colorado, in a small town far, far away from Gotham.”

“That’s not my name,” Hood says. He’s not lying. It’s a loophole.

“Not your _birth_ name,” Tim says. “But the name ‘ _Jason Peter Todd_ ’ opens a whole can of worms I’d rather not go into."

Silence.

Tim knows he's right, and he knows that this is very, very bad.

"What the hell are you doing in this city?”

Hood -- _Jason_ \-- turns away from his gun completely. He puts it down and marches up to Tim. “How much do you know?”

A lot, Tim thinks. After his adventure at Barbara's desk, he dug very, very deep. There’s only two words he needs to say.

“Witness protection.”

Jason swears. "Fucking hell." He slams his hand on the desk. “Who else knows?”

“I didn’t tell Dick, if that’s what you’re asking,” Tim snarks.

He doesn’t know why he’s being so sarcastic. The guy literally has a dozen guns on his person. Before his 'demise', he was the best shot in all of the GCPD, according to Cass.

“Damn, Timmy,” Jason curses. “You’re one hell of a replacement. How’d you figure it out?”

Tim shrugs. “Your ‘death’ was an obvious cover-up. An explosion in an abandoned warehouse with almost no traces left of your body. I just had to dig a little deeper.”

Jason snorts. “Fooled Bruce and Dick and the rest.”

“It’s kind of personal for them,” Tim points out. “And they don’t know what you witnessed.”

Jason turns to him. “Do you know what I witnessed?” he asks, and he seems more curious than homicidal at the moment.

Tim thinks about the global conspiracy he discovered, the League that extended its reach in every nook and cranny it could exploit. He remembers the moment he learned the name of its ruthless leader:

“Ra’s al Ghul.”

“You’re bat-shit insane, Tim,” Jason says. “Few people dig in that deep and are allowed to know.”

“You dug in that deep,” Tim says.

“And I had to fake my death and change my identity,” Jason snaps back. “If the League of Assassins knew that I knew, I wouldn’t be standing here right now.”

Tim gazes at him. At this point, he’s no longer in any danger of dying, at least from Jason. So he asks the question that’s been on his mind since he first suspected that Jason Todd wasn’t as dead as everyone thought.

“Why are you here, right now?” Tim asks. “Like, why would you leave witness protection and come back to Gotham and become a _crime lord_?”

_Did the League make you do this? Did the FBI?_ There are so many questions Tim has for the man in front of him, but he waits patiently for his answer.

Jason makes a wide gesture. “I don’t know if you noticed, but Gotham _sucks_.”

Tim waits.

“I told you before,” Jason says. “Aggressive vigilante? Ring any bells?”

Tim makes a wheezing noise at the back of his throat. He spent months uncovering this whole conspiracy. He found _Jason Todd_ , a man who’s been dead to the entire GCPD for years. He dug up information on the largest and most dangerous organization in the entire world. He even deduced the identity of the leader of the aforementioned organization. His _life_ is in _danger_ because of the information he learned.

And -- the reason why Todd was doing this, the reason why he came back to Gotham -- _was solely to control the drug trade_.

“You didn’t -- this isn’t some federal government secret thing?” Tim asks, completely disbelieving. “You just. You come back. So you can. _What_.”

“I sure as hell didn’t come back for the scenery,” Jason says. “And heartfelt reunions violate the witness protection.”

“I’m pretty sure leaving whatever town they stuck you in violates your witness protection,” Tim says. “I’m pretty sure becoming the _king of Gotham’s criminal element_ violates your witness protection.”

“Look, the police do stuff,” Jason says. “But what they do is grab people, throw them in jail, and repeat when they break out again,” he says. “Look at the Joker. It’s easier if we just kill them in the first place, and then they hurt less people.”

"You're a police officer!" Tim protests. "The whole point is to protect people with minimal loss of life!"

"I _was_ a police officer," Jason corrects him. "But you don't know the true multitude of the League. When the League showed up while I was with the Joker..." Here, Jason breaks off. He pauses to take a shaky breath. "They're _huge_ , Tim. It made me realize the entire system is corrupt and obsolete. Killing criminals is the only way to stop it."

"And what about the GCPD?" Tim asks, taking on a pleading tone. "You're the one running all of Gotham's underground. You might not deal to kids, but you're - you're still ordering hits and trafficking drugs and --"

"Better under my control than theirs," Jason says. "And the police? They'd be safer if the bad guys are dead." Jason turns and looks Tim in the eye. "I could've died in the field that day, Tim. And the Joker is still alive, plotting his next escape from behind the bars. Imagine if Bruce and Dick killed him in the first place."

It’s logical and justified in a way that makes Tim want to vomit. He's heard stories of Detective Todd. Determined, relentless, brave. Funny, quick witted, eager. The other half of Grayson and Todd - the second Dynamic Duo.

He's spent a year trying to get out of this guy's long shadow. And now.

It's disappointing to see how such a brave and admired figure could turn his back on the people he used to call friends.

Tim feels a rush of a cold and furious rage. He lifts his head up, glares into the Red Hood's expressionless helmet. "I'm gonna catch you, and you'll be locked up and you'll never see the sun again," he growls, because. This is for Bruce. This is for Babs. For Dick.

A man they mourned for had the audacity to throw it all back in their faces, and Tim won't let him get away with it.

The Red Hood takes a step back. Tim has never felt so furious in his life.

"You hear that?" he says, his voice sickeningly smooth and cold. "I don't care if I have to chase you to the fucking moon. _You don't get to hurt my friends like that_."

Friends. It's a word he uses sparingly. He's been a wallflower all his life and there were only a few who he counted as true friends -- Kon, Bart, Cassie -- but he knows it applies to the GCPD. Chief Wayne, a role model, cool and determined and relentless. Barbara, wise and smart and kind. Cass, strong and beautiful and deadly. Steph, bright and warm and unstoppable.

And Dick, courageous and loud and friendly in all they ways that Tim never was growing up.

Friends. They were Jason's friends, once, but he doesn't get to claim that anymore. Because Jason is a criminal now, and it's their job to hunt him down.

Jason chuckles, but it's less amused and more resigned than it was before. He turns away as Tim strains to get himself out of the chair he's tied to.

"Until next time, nemesis," He says, tipping an imaginary hat. Then he melts into the shadows and disappears out of sight.

 

* * *

 

After that encounter, Tim's in the hospital for a few scratches and a possible concussion. He gets a bed to lay on, though it's not that serious.

Cass comes to his room first. Tim knows that the others aren't far behind, so he says it quickly.

"I'm sorry," he starts off with.

Her eyes are pleading.

"You know who Hood is," she prompts.

He catches Cass' eye. She's staring at him, her dark eyes watching his every move.

She turns away, crosses her arms, and stares at the wall. She can read the name that Tim can't bring himself to say aloud.

"What do we tell them?" Tim asks.

Cass bites her lip. It takes her a long time before she answers. "The truth."

"Is that a good idea?" Tim's voice is quiet.

Cass closes her eyes. "You can't hide things from your partner," she says. "It never works. It takes away the trust."

Tim thinks back to his conversation with Grayson, where he heard the story of Jason Todd. _Thank you for trusting me with this._

He remembers the difference it made, Dick telling him that.

Honesty is a hard choice. But he owes it to Dick. He sucks in a deep breath as familiar footsteps run down the hall.

"Tim!"

Dick crashes into the room, looking unusually winded and ruffled. Steph is right behind him, and she takes her place next to Cass.

"Are you okay?" Dick asks, grabbing Tim's hand. "Oh God. I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have --"

"Dick, it's fine." Tim laughs. "I'm fine. Stop beating yourself up."

Dick's eyebrows are scrunched up in concern. "Tim --"

"Listen," Tim says. "I need you to call Chief Wayne. I know who the Red Hood is."

Dick's eyes widen and Steph sucks in a breath. Cass closes her eyes and presses her mouth into a firm line.

"He told you?" Dick asks. "Damn. He really does see you as his nemesis."

Dick chuckles, but he's tense. Perhaps he can sense the gravity of the knowledge Tim is about to bestow upon him.

Dick's innocently concerned expression is a knife in Tim's gut. He doesn't want to take away his partner's blissful ignorance. Tim wishes he never found out the truth in the first place.

But he gathers the courage and takes a deep breath.

* * *

 Tim wasn't sure what he was expecting when he showed up at the Gotham City Police Department, but it sure wasn’t _this_.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't normally write in the present tense, so that was fun.
> 
> I'm not planning to continue this, but if you want to run with it, let me know!


End file.
